


poetry and hidden boxes

by itsreallylizzy



Category: Rushmore (1998)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Softness, wes anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 04:39:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15766776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsreallylizzy/pseuds/itsreallylizzy
Summary: Poems are strewn in hidden places all over the apartment. It's an adventure for words of love.





	poetry and hidden boxes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Rushmore good movie
> 
> I would like to thank my good friend for giving me the idea and inspiration to write

He hides them all around their shared apartment, in places so random sometimes he forgets where he puts them. He says it's because he doesn't want her to find them but that's only half true. Even though they only take him about a half hour to write he secretly sort of does want her to find them. They say things he doesn't in every different way from complex to extremely simple and he write them because if he doesn't he can't move on to the next thing. His whole creative process stops until he writes out his feelings towards her. He would tell her but he's too embarrassed. Some of the poems are too sappy for New York's newest playwright's reputation. So he doesn’t tell her and he hides the latest poem inside a cup Margaret rarely uses. 

 

In a tin-box under a small collection of sweaters Margaret has a collection of every poem Max has ever written to her. It started one rainy evening when Max was away doing research for a new play and she stumbled across one hidden inside a book she had never read before. It was utter coincidence that she had found it, never before had she even wanted to open the book, but the decision had led to a wonderful surprise and cove of small and long poems all about her. It was especially on rainy days, like the one where she found the first, that she likes to go back and read them. They are Max’s actions, how he shows that he feels what he says and she knows he hasn’t shown her because he’s afraid she won’t like them. But he’s hidden the best ones poorly and the worst ones slightly better so he’s not afraid of her finding them. She doesn’t tell him anything and she isn’t planning on doing it yet. It’s her secret. And his. 

 

Margaret hears some shuffling in the kitchen from the living room before Max kisses her goodbye. He’s gone to a production meeting for a new play and she’ll be alone for a few hours. Her curiosity wins and she goes inside the kitchen to take a look around. She opens and opens cupboards, searching for something, though she doesn’t really know what. But she finds in a cup she’s never seen before (they really don’t use their nice cups often) a new poem, so new the ink hasn’t completely dried yet. 

 

A couple of hours later she hears shuffling at the door but she makes no move to hide what she has been doing. 

 

“How long have you known?” Max asks from the doorway.

 

“A couple months now,” Margaret replies from her seat in the living room where she is shifting through the poems.

 

“So which one's your favorite?” he asks.

 

She holds up a small, thin piece of paper. “This one.”

 

He takes it from her and reads it over. “But it's the shortest one.”

 

“The others are longer and written fancier but they all come down to this,” Margaret smiles a knowing smile. “If you didn't feel like this none of the others would exist.”

 

He sets it on the coffee table and smiles. “I guess you're right.”

 

Margaret looks out the window while Max looks for his personal favorite of the poems and notices it has begun to rain. She looks at the poem on the coffee table and moves closer to Max, leaning her head on his shoulder as he begins to read one of the poems out loud. They’re all so good, especially when he reads them, but her mind often drifts back to simple words on the coffee table.

 

_ I love you Margaret Yang. _

 

Those are, after all, the most true words of them all.

 


End file.
